


Under your skin (feels like home)

by astheykissconsume



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crime, Gen, How They Met, M/M, Pre-Series, Slow Build, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1985871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astheykissconsume/pseuds/astheykissconsume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran has been working as a contract killer for a criminal organisation in London since his dishonourable discharge from the army two years ago. Next on his list is one James Moriarty: Irish upstart working for a rival business, too clever for his own good, and due to die by Sebastian's hand in three months' time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the Imagine Mormor submission on tumblr, 'Imagine Seb being assigned to kill Jim, but falling in love with him and switching sides'. 
> 
> I'm writing it as I go, so I'm not sure how long the gaps will be between updates, but I'm planning on at least attempting to manage a chapter a week. Ratings might change as I update.
> 
> The title is taken from the lyrics of 'You're All That I Have' by Snow Patrol.

It was a mild, overcast day in early September, exactly two years to the day that Sebastian Moran had taken up his job as a gun for hire, and for once in his life he was attempting to enjoy a lie-in.

Sebastian was a light sleeper and usually an early riser, a habit left over from his army days which had never really faded. On the days he was working, he would get up early even if his job was scheduled for the afternoon, to make sure that he never had to rush anything. When he didn't have a job on, he tended to get up early anyway; going for a sunrise run was far more enjoyable than trying to navigate the crowded pavements in London on the best of days, and Sebastian valued his fitness. It was rare that he would allow himself to stay in bed past 6am. 'Rare' didn't mean that it never happened, however, and on that particular day in September, Sebastian had been up into the early hours, had no job lined up, and his bed was warm and cosy. His run could wait a while.

He was sprawled out face-down on the bed, not quite asleep, but too content to move. For the past few weeks, Sebastian had begun to feel like he was finally getting his life together; he was comfortable in his job, the money was good, his flat was decent, and best of all he didn't have to bother himself with anyone hanging around him for scraps of attention or affection that he didn't want to give. He was a lone wolf and he liked it that way. Life was good.

His phone beeped out the monotone buzz of his work-related text alert from his bedside cabinet.

With a grunt, Sebastian reached out towards the cabinet and groped around to find it without raising his head. He unlocked it without looking and then lifted his face from the pillow to peer tiredly at the screen.

_Meeting today @ Clifford Street office. 8:30am prompt. Important._

Sebastian read the text three times over before his half-asleep brain saw fit to register it, then groaned aloud and tossed his phone down before burying his face in the pillow once more. So much for his lie-in. 

-

London was heaving. Even though it was early, it was a Saturday morning, and the more organised tourists had already headed out to make a prompt start on the day's sightseeing, whilst locals were hurrying about their business with their heads down, ignoring most things around them. Sebastian had only walked down the length of one street and already he was regretting pulling on a sweater at the last minute. The late summer air was warmer than he had anticipated and he didn't want to turn up at the meeting looking flushed and sweaty. But it was hardly his fault that they had sprung this on him.

Grumpily, he wondered what it could be about. Unlikely to be a job, as he usually just received a text with a name, date and location; if he needed extra information on the target, a meeting would be arranged afterwards. Maybe he was in trouble. Sebastian considered that and idly wondered if he should be more concerned, but in truth, he knew that it was extremely unlikely. He wasn't just good at his job, he was damn near perfect. Efficient and ruthless, and he never missed. When Sebastian locked onto a target, the death certificate could consider itself signed.

He arrived at the Clifford Street offices with five minutes to spare and walked straight in, giving a curt nod to the receptionist. He didn't need to sign in; he'd been here often enough, and he'd found since starting this job that most people who knew what he did tended to avoid making small talk with him wherever possible. It was like they thought that by engaging in conversation with him they might risk becoming target practise for his infamous trigger finger. Or perhaps it was just his sullen expression, but Sebastian liked to think that his reputation preceded him. Either way, it suited him just fine.

Unfortunately, 'most people' did not include his boss. Sebastian had no idea what his boss's real name was and no desire to find out, but he went by David Smith. He looked as ordinary as his name; utterly innocuous and ten-a-penny, with an unfortunate fondness for treating his employees like long lost friends. Sebastian had no doubt that Smith would not hesitate to have a bullet put in his back if he displeased the man in any way, but he wasn't bothered. He wasn't the sort of man who made mistakes.

"Moran, good man. It's good to see you. How have you been?" Smith was smiling at him from across the desk like some sort of fond bumbling uncle, as though he'd been looking forward to a nice catch up and wanted nothing more than to hear what Sebastian did on his weekends and whether or not he'd met a nice girl yet.

Sebastian gave a non-commital shrug. "Fine. Same as usual." It was the answer he always gave and always would give, but Smith smiled even wider as though Sebastian had gifted him with an intriguing piece of information.

"That's good, that's very good." Smith's hands were giving him away, nicotine-yellowed fingernails tapping out a restless rhythm on the tabletop. He was evidently much more nervous than he wanted to appear.

Sebastian smiled emotionlessly. He didn't bother asking how Smith was. "Was there something you wanted?"

Smith didn't answer for a few moments. He looked briefly at liquor cabinet as though he would dearly love to pour himself a gin or a whiskey before his gaze returned reluctantly to Sebastian. When he spoke, he appeared to choose his words with great care. "There has been a... progression in an area of interest for me."

Sebastian merely waited, his expression neutral. His boss had many areas of interest. Sebastian didn't give a shit about any of them aside from the one which had dragged him out of bed that morning.

"A business that I have been keeping an eye on for some time has been making some rather startling advancements," Smith continued. "It is a business quite similar to my own in many ways, although - " he looked down with a small, patronising smile " - obviously not at _quite_ the same level."

No-one was at the same level, as far as Smith was concerned. He had been born into crime, and born into casual inherited arrogance that the family would always be the best. Sebastian had never found the inclination to tell him that he had only opted to work for Smith's business because he paid the highest price, and not because Smith was the success he believed himself to be. Nonetheless, he remained silent, waiting for the man to get to the point.

"The man running the business is a little elusive, to say the least. He seems to prefer to operate from the shadows, as it were; word of mouth, passing on messages through various mediums before it reaches the intended recipient, and the like. He's proving rather difficult to get hold of any solid information on, so we only have the basics."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "And you want me to take him down?"

"No, no. No. Well. Yes." Smith chuckled at himself for his own contradiction, though Sebastian's expression remained the same: bored, with an edge of cynicism. "Eventually, yes, I would like you to 'take him down', as you put it." He paused, then sighed. "The fact of it is that we have too little information to get any idea of his routine. He sets things up and then lets the unfold some distance from him - but we don't know where. We need to get a better idea of the sort of man he is, his habits, his schedule, his likes and dislikes. And to get that information, we need someone on the inside."

The room was silent for a moment. Sebastian eyed Smith with renewed scepticism. "I'm a hitman, not someone you can hire out as a PA to your latest rival," he responded after a few seconds, his brow setting into a frown. "I don't deal in that department."

"I'm aware." For once, Smith did not attempt to placate him, but accepted the argument. "But it's not a PA he would be seeking. His business is flourishing, but it is still reasonably young. He will be branching out, trying to expand his reach - in fact, I know he is. That is one of the few pieces of intelligence we have on him." He paused. "He's looking for trained snipers. His earliest business deals involved theft, for the most part, and blackmail. But he's branching out into murder as well." He gave Sebastian a tight smile. "As you know, death pays well."

Sebastian inclined his head just slightly. "So you want me to go and work for some other company's version of you, basically?" he asked bluntly.

Smith did not look pleased at that assessment. "Not at all." Was there a hint of offence in his tone, or was Sebastian imagining things? Smith was attempting to keep up an air of professional calm, but somehow Sebastian didn't think that his ears were deceiving him. "I want you to go and work for him, yes, but he is not like me. Aside from the fact that we both work in the same industry, there is very little to compare between us." There was definitely a certain sniffiness to his tone now. "He's rather young to be in charge of his own business, according to our files. Just a little younger than you, in fact. He has no notable background whatsoever. All we know is that he grew up poor in the back streets of Dublin, and that there is nothing of particular interest about his family or childhood. Otherwise we would know of it."

"Right." Sebastian leaned back in his chair. "And I assume that as my time is going to be taken up with this mystery man, I'm set for a pay rise." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Moran. You will be given a pay rise." Smith's tone was somewhere between concealed impatience and an attempt to return to the insincere fondness of the bumbling uncle, but it was obvious that he was at least a little relieved that Sebastian seemed to be taking the job without argument.

Sebastian nodded. "Right," he repeated. After a moment of silence, he stood up. He didn't extend his hand; that wasn't how it worked. The deal had been made and they would both stick to it, just as they always did. "Usual procedure?"

"Usual procedure." Smith remained seated, though he gave Sebastian one of his too-friendly smiles once again. "Speak soon, Moran."

Sebastian gave him a nod of acknowledgement and turned on his heel to leave. Just before the door closed behind him, he heard the tap of Smith's restless fingers on the tabletop once again.

-

He considered his new job on his way home with the roar of the Underground around him. It was certainly different to any task he'd been given before. It would probably be boring. He would have to work his way through the ranks, after all, or else find a way for this rival boss to notice him. No wonder Smith was so bothered by him, he thought with a humourless smirk as he got off the tube and headed back to his flat. A young upstart from across the Irish Sea, working his way up from nothing to a place in the criminal ranks of London which was evidently high enough to concern Smith. And he'd done it all through hard work and with no family reputation to fall back on. At least that meant he surely had to be at least a little bit interesting to get to know, Sebastian mused as he let himself in.

It was half an hour later that the text came through with the details for the job. Usual procedure, as they had called it, though this job was far from usual. Sebastian picked up his mobile and opened the message, more curious than he tended to be when receiving details of his jobs.

  
 _EMPLOYEE: Sebastian Moran_  
 _TASK: Sniper to infiltrate ranks of rival business + assassination_  
 _TIME GIVEN: 3 months  
_ _TARGET: James Moriarty_


	2. Chapter 2

Within three days, Sebastian found himself set up on what apparently constituted some sort of 'first audition' for his new job. Sebastian could only assume that James Moriarty was a bit of a drama queen, because he'd never heard of any criminal organisation hosting anything even vaguely similar to an audition, and certainly not a series of them. Smith had never had any process like that; he'd studied Sebastian's records in detail - or had someone else do it for him - and evidently decided that his aptitude with guns and his dishonourable discharge were more than enough reason for him to join the business. He'd give Sebastian a target and had him tailed on his first job, so that the shadower could step in and silence him if he tried to back out. The target had been killed, Sebastian had committed murder for money for the first time, and so he couldn't escape. Blood on his hands, the proof of great potential, and a job. That was that.

It seemed that getting a job in James Moriarty's business was a lot more complicated. Sebastian had been given a contact to make to convey his interest, and the next day he had received a text which simply showed a time and location. Seeing as no date was involved, Sebastian had assumed that that it meant that very day; 7pm found him waiting in a corner of the plaza in Covent Garden, back to the wall and hands thrust into his pockets, when a street vendor came wandering up with a tray of roasted chestnuts.

"You want some, mate?"

"No." Sebastian looked away from him, scanning the crowds to see if he could spot anything out of the ordinary to suggest that Moriarty's people might be waiting to meet him.

"C'mon, they're proper nice. You'll like them, honest."

The man's cockney accent was as irritating as his wheedling. "I said no," Sebastian said abruptly, turning back to the man with a scowl. He stopped short at the sight of the vendor smiling at him, showing off blindingly white veneers. Bloody expensive veneers for a street vendor.

"I know what you said. And I'm sayin', you'll like them," the man said softly. His smile had a smug edge to it now.

Sebastian scowled at him. Smartarse bastard. "I assume you've got something for me?" he said bluntly.

"Course I have, mate. Some nice chestnuts, that's what I've got for you." The man balanced his tray on one hand and picked up a plastic cup of nuts, offering them out to Sebastian.

Sebastian took the cup, eyes narrowed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The man was still smiling, but his expression was serene now. He held his hand out expectantly. With a sigh, Sebastian dug back into his pocket and tossed him a coin. "Now, you enjoy them. Best roast chestnuts in London." He paused. "See you around, mate."

With that, he turned and left. Sebastian opened his mouth, on the verge of calling after him, but closed it hastily. What could he say? Covent Garden was hardly a private place to quiz a fake street vendor as to why exactly Moriarty thought it necessary to make Sebastian wait around to buy some fucking chestnuts.

He could only assume that there was a message tucked in among them. He turned and walked back the way he had come, finding a quiet alley away from the bustle of the plaza, and tipped the chestnuts out into his palm, searching for a scrap of paper. There was nothing. Sebastian stared at the nuts in his palm and then threw them into the bin he'd stopped by in frustration. He was about to toss the cup in as well when he noticed that someone had somehow written on the base of the cup.

_Prescot Street, Tower Hill. Tomorrow at 11am. See you there, blondie. xx_

Kisses. Fucking kisses.

James Moriarty was shaping up to be one hell of a strange boss.

-

Sebastian had rung Smith when he'd got back to the flat and reported that he'd succeeding in arranging a meeting with Moriarty, but Smith had warned him that it was likely to be less of a meeting and more of a try-out to test his skill. One of a few try-outs that Moriarty's people were expected to go through before they were deemed worthy to join him, apparently.

Now, lounging on his couch with a beer, Sebastian snorted. _Worthy._ He was an ex-Colonel with a tread so light and a trigger finger so accurate that he'd been propelled through Smith's ranks in half the time it took most recruits. He was given the hardest shots, the most elusive targets. He was the best Smith had, and Smith was good. Smith had been arranging heists and assassinations since James Moriarty was crying in his cot. Come to think of it, Sebastian himself had probably been heading off to begin his - initially exceedingly bright and successful, thank you very much - army career before Moriarty had even left school. And Moriarty wanted to test whether or not Sebastian was good enough for him?

Sebastian downed the rest of his beer and got up from the couch. No matter. He'd get a good night's sleep, turn up tomorrow, and put Moriarty's stupid test to shame by showing him exactly what he was capable of.

-

Sebastian was painfully aware of a trickle of sweat running in a rivulet down his forehead towards his eye, but he couldn't lift a hand to wipe it away. He'd been crouched in the exact same position for over four hours and his muscles were aching almost to the point of spasm. If there was one small mercy, it was that the sun had dipped down far enough to ease the glare in his eyes.

When Smith had said that Moriarty's people had to 'audition' for him, this was not what Sebastian had anticipated. He'd arrived at Prescot Street at 10:40am and had spent ten minutes hanging around awkwardly before a woman had run up behind him in a mixture of work clothes and training gear, out of breath and clutching a pair of high heels in one hand, apologising numerous times for apparently being late. She'd ushered him into an office building all the while chatting like he was an old friend. As soon as the doors had shut behind them, she had walked off without a word and vanished around a corner. Another woman, older than the first and with a deceptively kind smile, had called him over and showed him up to a room on the second-to-top floor of the building. To meet Moriarty, he assumed, or someone standing in for him; or perhaps it was a sound-proof, bullet-proof room for him to show off his talent with a gun.

But no. The room was a dingy, abandoned office with no furniture in it but an empty desk, and a perpetual smell of damp wood. The window was narrow and overlooked a row of office buildings almost identical to this one. On the bare stone floor underneath the window, there was a message written in white chalk.

_The target will appear in the window third from the left, fourth floor down, in the building directly opposite you. Who knows when? Enjoy. xx_  
 _ps. I'll text you when _

Ever since, Sebastian had been crouched by the windowsill with his Heckler PSG1, silently cursing James Moriarty and his ridiculous test and his ridiculous target for not having the goddamn courtesy to arrive within the last four hours.

Four sodding hours without a whisper of a hint as to what he was even waiting for, unable to take his eyes off that specific window in case the moment he decided to look away to stretch out his neck was the moment the target appeared.

He needed a piss, and his back hurt. He'd spent many hours lying in wait for targets before, but at least those times he'd actually known what to expect and had a general idea of the time to expect it. All the same, Sebastian didn't move. He wasn't going to let some jumped up little bastard get the better of him.

Another thirty two minutes passed before there was any sign of activity. A sudden flurry of movement in the window in question made Sebastian tense up, finger curling around the trigger as he waited for his phone to buzz, muscles taut with concentration. Through the scope he could see a man, early thirties by the looks of him, a bit chubby with thinning fair hair. He was talking to someone. A child stepped into view a few seconds later, and Sebastian's eyebrows rose even as the rest of him held completely still. Did Moriarty want him to kill the child? Was this his way of forcing potential recruits to prove their ruthlessness?

His phone still didn't make a noise. The man and the boy were still talking, leaning against the windowsill and utterly oblivious to the sniper's lense focused in on them.

Then they moved. Sebastian tensed up even more, muttering a terse, "What the _fuck_ , Moriarty?", because what kind of assignment set him up to keep watch for a target but never gave him the signal to go ahead? What kind of boss would forget the signal or fail to send it?

The boy returned. He was hurrying back, evidently having forgotten to do something. Sebastian watched as he bent down by the window and picked something up. He said something to someone in the room behind him, then set the object on the windowsill, patted it on the head, and turned to leave again. It was a teddy bear. After a moment, he saw the edge of the door swing into his vision and back out of it as they left the room.

Sebastian stared at the teddy bear. The teddy bear gazed back at him unseeingly, its stitched smile mocking Sebastian.

His phone vibrated.

Sebastian fired.

-  
  
It took two weeks and seven 'auditions' before Sebastian was invited to meet Moriarty himself. They had been scheduled for every second day and involved a variety of tests, ranging from shooting the teddy bear to shooting a lilypad on a pond in a busy London park in broad daylight. The lilypad had been marked with a jaunty smiley face marked out in tiny pieces of gravel atop the leaf. He was required to shoot the nose. Sebastian had no idea whose job it was to go out and set up things like that for Moriarty, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He also wasn't entirely sure what would have become of him had he been caught taking potshots at a lilypad in public, but he could only assume that this was Moriarty's way of weeding out the indiscreet. Either way, Sebastian had managed. 

Smith had been pleased when he'd told him about his invitation to meet the man himself. "That's good, that's great, Moran," he'd enthused. "Two weeks seems to be remarkably fast for his standards, as far as we can tell. He must think you've shown real potential."

As far as Sebastian was concerned, 'real potential' from Moriarty's point of view could either translate to 'greatly amusing to watch faced with ridiculous and demeaning tasks' or at the very least 'stubborn enough to see them through'. Sebastian had dug his heels in and seen every task through to the end, however, and he'd completed them all with clean, sharp efficiently and without a fuss. He couldn't imagine that many people got past some of Moriarty's more bizarre tests, so he wasn't surprised he appeared to have been picked out as having great potential.

On the morning that he was due to meet Moriarty, Sebastian woke early as usual, completed his morning exercise, showered, and shaved. He was going to look the part, and he was going to act the part, and he was going to be accepted into Moriarty's business. No more stupid tests or auditions, no more hanging around waiting for targets that never materialised as actually human or consequential in any way. When he set off for his meeting to finally come face to face with the man he was expected to work for, Sebastian was more relieved than anything else.

Two and a half weeks had passed out of the three months he'd been given, and now he was finally going to meet James Moriarty in person. That left nine and a half weeks for him to complete his task and get that extra zero on the end of his paycheck. And his paycheck was hefty enough as it was; with the bonus he'd been promised for this task, he'd be able to get a new flat, or maybe keep this one and buy a house somewhere out of London for when he wanted to get away from it all. He could have whatever he wanted.

Nine and a half weeks. Ample time to work his way into Moriarty's trust, and ample time to kill him. That thought was enough to keep a small smile on Sebastian's face as he headed into the building where he was due to meet Moriarty.

Nine and a half weeks; sixty seven days. The clock was ticking for James Moriarty, and Sebastian never missed.


	3. Chapter 3

His first impression of James Moriarty was that he smelled like power. It was an odd thought to have, but it was undeniably the first to cross his mind as he stepped into the office. Moriarty's cologne was discreet, musky and unusual, and it smelled expensive. It was the type of cologne that the man who had sat impassively behind a desk and signed Sebastian's dishonourable discharge records would have worn, and that man had held as much power as anyone Sebastian had ever known, at least over he himself. And yet this cologne wasn't something he recognised. Powerful, and unfamiliar. Summed Moriarty right up.

His second thought, contrarily, was that Moriarty was surprisingly small and inconspicuous. It wasn't the deliberately unremarkable manner that Smith carried with himself, but rather the fact that his features appeared genuinely unassuming in themselves. Sebastian had looked many criminals in the eye, and whilst they had varied widely in looks, there had at least been hints of unpleasantness beneath the surface: hard mouths, steely eyes, tense jaws.

Not Moriarty. He looked to be in his early thirties at most, handsome, and smiling at Sebastian from behind his desk. He hadn't stood to greet him; absent mindedly, Sebastian wondered if that was because Moriarty knew that there would be a considerable height difference between them if he did. Even sat down, Sebastian could tell that Moriarty was by no means a large man, but perhaps most disarming of all were Moriarty's wide brown eyes. They were startlingly expressive and gave him an air of harmless innocence.

"Sebastian Moran." Moriarty was still smiling; he gestured at the chair in front of his desk. "Take a seat."

At Moriarty's distinctive accent, Sebastian found himself wondering how long exactly he had away from Ireland, but he diverted those thoughts quickly. He didn't want to have anything other than one hundred percent concentration around this man. However hapless he looked, he was the enemy. He was the target. Sebastian took the seat and offered the briefest of humourless, polite smiles in return. "Mr Moriarty."

"Jim," Moriarty corrected, apparently not noticing or choosing to ignore the responding arch of Sebastian's eyebrow. Somehow Sebastian got the impression it was more likely to be the latter. Moriarty flicked through several papers on his desk, then looked up at Sebastian. He studied him for a few seconds in silence. Sebastian stayed still and just stared right back at him, waiting for him to finish his evaluation.

After a few moments, Moriarty leaned back in his leather chair. He stretched his arms above his head, then linked his fingers and leaned his head against them. "You have been a busy boy," he commented.

Sebastian shrugged one shoulder. "Just completing the tasks you set me." "Yes."

Moriarty's smile widened; he was all but grinning at Sebastian now, like a mischievous child pleased with his own prank. "Did you enjoy them?"

"I wouldn't say 'enjoy' is quite the word," Sebastian replied dryly. "But I did them all the same."

"Mm, you did. To quite a standard, too." Moriarty glanced back down at the papers, fidgeting again in his chair and lowering his hands to the desk. He picked up one form and scanned it briefly. "My clean-up team reported back that you hit the teddy directly between the eyes. I'm impressed."

Sebastian just shrugged again. That wasn't a particularly impressive example of his work; it was just an example. The shot wasn't impressive, he was. "I'm good."

"No, you're bad. Bad man, taking away that poor child's teddy bear." Moriarty tilted his head. For the first time, Sebastian felt a hint of unnerved discomfort as the man's dark gaze pierced him unblinkingly, his mouth drawn into a childish pout as he mimicked a little boy's voice. "Oh _teddy_ , where have you gone?"

Sebastian kept his expression neutral. "I'm sure he can get a new one."

Moriarty laughed at that, pleased. His laugh was boyish, though not with the insincerity of moments before; instead it was almost charming. "I like the way you think, Sebastian." He leaned forward in a sudden movement, planting his elbows on the desk and resting his chin on his hands as he studied Sebastian. "Tell me about yourself."

"Haven't you read the files, sir?"

" _Jim_ ," Moriarty corrected, sounding exasperated. "And yes. I have. But I want to hear it from your lips."

Strange that he insisted on his first name, especially when Sebastian wasn't even an employee yet, but no doubt there were stranger quirks about this man. "I grew up in Chelsea. My mother was English, my father Irish. I studied English Literature at Trinity College, Oxford and I joined the army when I was twenty two. I rose to Colonel and received a dishonourable discharge after eleven years of service because I killed a man. After leaving the army I returned to London and I've been freelancing as a sniper ever since," he reeled off. Smith had assured him that any mention of him being contracted to his company had been wiped clean from any records Moriarty might have seized; there was no way for Moriarty to know that 'freelance' was anything but the truth.

"So if I hire you, I get my very own soldier boy. And a clever one too. You must be quite a catch, Sebastian." His eyes gleamed in a way which suggested that he didn't just mean as an employee, but Sebastian ignored it. "But as intriguing as your education and work is, I wanted you to tell me about _you_."

Shit. Sebastian wasn't good at talking about himself, never had been. It was the age-old question that everyone hated and dreaded in interviews. 'Tell me about yourself!' 'Tell me three interesting facts about you!' 'Where do you want to see yourself in five years time?' Sebastian was uncomfortably reminded of his interview for Oxford. Except Moriarty looked nothing like that professor, and this was an interview for a mass criminal organisation, for fuck's sake. Sebastian was aware that his discomfort must be showing slightly on his face, because Moriarty gave him an encouraging smile and raised an eyebrow slightly as he waited.

"I'm... I'm a conscientious worker," he said, slowly, because he had to be careful with his words here; Moriarty would doubtless smell a lie a mile off, but he didn't want to risk dropping himself in it by alluding to the skills he'd developed working with Smith. "I'm very determined. When I set myself a target, whatever it is, I won't miss it."

 _Including you_ , he thought, meeting Moriarty's dark eyes once more.

"Good," Moriarty murmured. "I like determination. It's sexy. Go on."

Sebastian released a long breath. "I pride myself on being resourceful. I don't give in. And I'm physically very fit and capable."

"I can see that." A hint of a smirk was playing at the corner of Moriarty's mouth. He waited for a moment, presumably for Sebastian to continue, and when he didn't he leaned forward even further on the desk, so much so that the edge of the desk was surely digging into him. "I have one final question for you, Sebastian, and then you'll have told me all I need to know." He reminded Sebastian of a cat watching a bird; coiled, waiting. "The moment you set your sights on your target and your finger is on the trigger, and you're about to take a human life." He lifted a hand, shaping it into a gun, and pointed it right at Sebastian. "How do you feel?"

Sebastian looked at the 'gun', then at Moriarty. After a moment, he replied, "Satisfied."

Moriarty grinned and jerked his hand up as though the gun had done off. "Bang," he murmured, pleased.

-

Sebastian got the job. When Moriarty texted him to confirm the news - this time signed with 'JM', a kiss and a stupid little emoticon sticking its tongue out - Sebastian rung Smith immediately to tell him.

"Excellent, excellent news. Excellent." Smith sounded triumphant already. Sebastian felt like telling him not to get too excited already, but he couldn't bothered.

"I'm to report to a location in east London tomorrow morning. It's a warehouse down by the docks, I think I'm supposed to be meeting some of his other employees. Not sure whether he'll be there or not." Sebastian wandered into the kitchen to get something to eat.

"Make sure to stand out," Smith instructed, as though Sebastian didn't know that.

"I will, sir," he said dryly, balancing the mobile on his shoulder as he poured himself a drink and grabbed a banana. He tuned out as Smith rambled on about the necessity of proving himself to Moriarty's people as well as the man himself, returning to the couch.

"So what is he like?" Smith asked when he'd finally paused for breath, sounding mildly curious. Sebastian could imagine that Smith was actually a hell of a lot more curious than he was letting on - desperate for information on his up and coming rival, no doubt.

"Small. Dark hair and eyes. Smiles a lot."

Smith made an impatient noise. "I don't mean his appearance, Moran. What's the man like as an employer?"

"He only became my employer ten minutes ago," Sebastian protested.

" _Moran_."

Sebastian smirked ever so slightly to himself at the annoyance in Smith's tone. "Bit weird. He's all sweet smiles and he looks harmless. Insists on using first names rather than titles. And he was a bit flirty." He paused. "I get the impression he doesn't miss anything, though. Very sharp."

"Mm, well. He'd have to be reasonably sharp to rise to the position he has." Smith sniffed. "Don't let his flirting distract you."

Sebastian's eyebrows rose on his forehead and there was a hint of his incredulity in his tone when he responded. "Wasn't exactly planning on it." Just how much did Smith know? Yes, Sebastian had experimented with men before, but he undoubtedly preferred women. He hadn't been with a man in years. And he was hardly going to respond positively to the flirting of the man he was under orders to _kill_.

"I'm just saying, Moran." Smith didn't sound like he'd been giving it all that much thought; just a throwaway comment, then. "You're to report directly to me as soon as your meeting tomorrow is finished, understood?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Yes. Understood."

-

Moriarty wasn't there the next day; instead, Sebastian met five employees working for him, three men and two women, who all stared at him with scrutinising eyes when he arrived. At first he assumed that they were all new, weighing up their competition, but it soon became apparent that that wasn't the case. The last one of them to be recruited by Moriarty, aside from Sebastian, had joined him almost a year ago. "He doesn't take on just anyone," one of them told him, scathingly, when he queried it. "It's not a free for all. You earn your place and then you keep earning it, and the moment you let him down, you're done."

Sebastian eyed her and her companions appraisingly. They were all looking him over coldly, giving off the unfriendliest vibes he'd come across in a long time, and that was saying something. "I assume you've never let him down, then," he drawled.

One of the women snorted. "We wouldn't be here if that was the case. We'd be ashes by now." She fixed Sebastian with an even harder look. "He doesn't take kindly to mistakes. You fuck up, you vanish. Not a trace left. That's how it is and you'd better get used to it."

Sebastian inclined his head just slightly in acknowledgement, biting down a sharp retort. He knew how to keep his head down and work. He didn't need Moriarty's people telling him how to do the job he'd been doing successfully for two years, and the idea that they thought him inexperienced and naive, in need of lecturing, rankled. But he kept his tongue on that matter. "So what am I here to do?"

"You weren't told?"

The man who had spoken sounded genuinely curious, and Sebastian glanced at him before replying. "Obviously not, or I wouldn't be asking."

The man studied him for a few moments, then shrugged one shoulder. "Advancement in the ranks."

That made fuck all sense, so Sebastian just raised a cynical eyebrow. "Mind explaining?"

"You're here to try out against us," the second man said in a very slow voice, as though speaking to somebody exceptionally stupid. Sebastian didn't have time to feel offended; he was too surprised at what he was actually saying. "You've been put forward to compete in a number of tasks with each of us and at the end of the day one of us will be advanced to the inner circle."

He stepped forward, squaring up to Sebastian. He was about half an inch shorter, but his biceps bulged and rippled, and Sebastian was vividly reminded of the time he'd seen a bulldog getting ready to attack. "Between us, _Moran_ ," he continued softly, "none of us here are all too pleased at you being here. Seems like a fucking farce, to be frank. I've been here nearly two years, and Kate there's been working for him since he first arrived in England. And you swan in like the fucking teacher's pet and we're told that we have to accept you as a worthy rival. Despite the fact that you've been on the scene for less than a _month._ " Behind him, one of the women made a disgusted noise.

Belatedly, Sebastian realised that this was the reason for their unfriendliness. Not because they thought him inexperienced, but because they were jealous.

"I've only met Moriarty once, so I hardly think I count as a 'teacher's pet'," he retorted, throwing the man a derisive look. He didn't back down, knowing that if he wanted to maintain his dignity, he couldn't let this group see him as weak in any way.

The man only sneered at him as he moved away, returning to the others. "I've better things to do than argue with you, Moran. You know nothing of how he works. Of how _we_ work. He's probably only thrown you in to surprise us and see how we deal."  The resentment was obvious in all their faces, now that Sebastian recognised it for what it was.

He wanted badly to know why Moriarty had done this, why he had pitted Sebastian, whom he hardly knew at all, up against experienced employees. Was it really just to mess with the others? Somehow he didn't think so. But why the hell would he risk having Sebastian in his inner circle, unproven as he was to Moriarty?

But then again... if he won this, he would have proved himself. Moriarty had clearly been impressed with him, with how he'd dealt with previous tests and with his meeting face-to-face. He must have been very impressed, to forward him so quickly to this stage. Despite his current situation, that thought was enough to steady Sebastian's confidence.

And a position in the inner circle would be incredibly useful. He would get first-hand experience of Moriarty's routine, and he could coax Moriarty into trusting him. If he was trusted, then Moriarty might feel comfortable enough to be alone with him, without security waiting at the door or just around the corner. And then Sebastian would strike.

With renewed determination, Sebastian followed the other five over to the corner of the warehouse where a number of boxes were stacked in order to find out what tasks had been set to flush out the victor of Moriarty's little challenge. He had to win this. He _would_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a couple of deaths, Sebastian is a vicious git, Jim's suit gets crumpled, shock horror etc.

Moriarty was looking at him again in that particular way he had, when his eyes looked thoughtful but the twist of his mouth was amused, and when his head was cocked ever so slightly to one side.

It pissed Sebastian off. It made him look like a fucking puppy rather than a criminal mastermind. A lot of things about Moriarty pissed Sebastian off. He was building up a mental list and so far he'd gathered at least twenty two irritating facts about the man. And he'd only been working in his inner circle for two weeks.

"You want something, boss?" he muttered, turning his head away from the equipment he was setting up to arch an eyebrow at him. His latest job had taken him - them - out of London, up to a dirty rooftop on the the southern border of Birmingham. Moriarty had insisted on coming along; why Sebastian didn't know, because it wasn't as though he was of any use whatsoever. Sebastian was beginning to get the impression that what Moriarty hated more than anything was boredom. He'd been hovering around Sebastian for ages now, jittery with an energy that Sebastian would label as nervous if he didn't know better. He did know better, and Moriarty wasn't nervous at all. He was just restless, restless all the time, all twitching fingers and twisting neck and tap-tap-tap of feet against the floor. He always wanted something to stimulate that fucking brain of his.

That was number 9 on Sebastian's list of annoying things about James Moriarty: _too clever for his own good._

It had been recognisable right from the start. Smith had grudgingly admitted that Moriarty had to be reasonably smart to get to the position he currently held, but after spending just one day with the man Sebastian had known that those words had been a massive understatement. Moriarty's intelligence bordered on inhuman.

And whilst his extraordinary level of intelligence was doubtless excellent for his business, it didn't do much for Sebastian's patience. He was setting up his tripod and getting his equipment in line and previously it had always been something of a private ritual. Slow, methodological, painstakingly careful. It wasn't that he needed to be so very careful - he was perfectly capable of setting up his guns and by now he could probably do it with his eyes shut. But it helped him get into the right mindset. It calmed him.

Having an annoying little bastard of a criminal genius drumming his fingers on the concrete beside him and practically squirming in boredom did the exact opposite.

"Boss?" he repeated, letting go of the tripod all together to give Moriarty a frustrated look. "You're not exactly helping, you know."

Number 4: _provocative._

Moriarty just huffed at him. He wouldn't stop fidgeting. "You're taking _ages_."

"Wasn't aware you had anywhere special to be." Sebastian turned his attention back to his guns, or tried to.

"I don't. But you're being very annoying, you know."

"You didn't have to come with me."

Moriarty arched an eyebrow at him. He leaned forward, baring his teeth in an expression which would be a playful grin in anyone else. In Moriarty, for all his big brown eyes, it managed to look slightly threatening. "Ooh, Sebastian's getting antsy," he trilled. "Don't you want me here, huh? I'm _offended_."

"No, you're not," Sebastian muttered, and Moriarty gave a delighted laugh at his insolence. He seemed to enjoy the fact that Sebastian called him out, which was fortunate, because whilst Sebastian had an incredible store of patience when it came to his job, Moriarty was a different case entirely. The man was utterly insufferable. It had only taken four days in his new job before Sebastian had lost the ability to hold his tongue whilst Moriarty pranced around him spouting off stupid observations - always right, but hardly ever relevant - and melodramatic declarations. He'd snapped at his new boss on the fifth day, and Moriarty, miraculously, had quietened. He'd flashed Sebastian a smile which seemed unnervingly content, and Sebastian got the impression that a retaliation and rebuke had been exactly what he was seeking. Why, he didn't know, but he wasn't going to make it his business to even attempt to understand what went on in Moriarty's mind. Only a fool would try.

" - and you should try to be nicer, you really should, because you really haven't made yourself too many friends so far, have you?" Moriarty clicked his tongue and shook his head, expression mock sorrowful. "Poor little Sebastian no-mates."

Sebastian had blocked out most of the rambling, but he rolled his eyes at the final jibe. He didn't comment on it, but just kept working, resigned to the fact that Moriarty would ramble on as much as he pleased. He'd gleefully reminded Sebastian of his current position as Moriarty's most unpopular employee for the past two weeks, apparently enjoying the fact that he'd created such a rift in his workers by pitting Sebastian up against his long-term employees in that stupid little test of his. It hadn't ended prettily. Sebastian was relatively sure that he'd made five enemies for life, but no matter. It wasn't his fault he was better than them.

Eventually, not before time, Moriarty fell silent. Sebastian knew why; the man was nowhere near stupid enough to carry on distracting Sebastian near the time his target was due to arrive. The high-rise office building upon which his sights were set seemed quiet enough for now, but they both knew how it went: in approximately nine minutes the target would appear, there would be a muffled gunshot, a body, and no trace of them anywhere to be found. Silence descended upon them both and with it, finally, came a sense of calm. Sebastian settled, finger curled around the trigger. Moriarty was so still he didn't seem to be breathing, but his eyes remained fixed on Sebastian's face.

They had been like that for nearly three minutes when Sebastian realised something was wrong. The first indicator was the way in which the hairs on the back of his neck rose in subconscious unease. Sebastian was already still, and only somebody with the highest level of observational skills would notice the way he stiffened further, ever so slighty. Moriarty had doubtless noticed, but Sebastian didn't have time to check his boss for any reaction, because the second indictor was the soft scuff of a shoe on concrete, not far away, and suddenly Sebastian knew exactly what was happening: somebody had their gun levelled at them, at Moriarty, right now, and they were settling their weight to take the shot. Sebastian recognised the sound. He himself had done it countless times before. Only now the barrel of the gun was aimed his way, and that was fucking unacceptable.

His reaction was instantaneous. He didn't have time to wrench his favoured gun free from the tripod he'd so carefully set up, so he left that; instead, he flung himself abruptly sideways, into Moriarty, sending them both crashing to the ground. As he did, a gunshot exploded somewhere over their heads, followed by a second, then a third. Moriarty was swearing and squirming under him and Sebastian cursed, wasting only a second to grab the back of Moriarty's neck and force him down flat onto the pavement to stop him getting in the way before seizing the pistol he kept tucked against his waist as back-up. He felt better as soon as he had it in his hand, the familiar flesh-warmed metal turning his alarm into abrupt fury.

He released a series of bullets in the direction the gunshots had come from and was rewarded with a clatter of metal as their assailant crashed into something with a cry of pain as they were hit. It was the sound of someone who had been hurt rather than someone who had been fatally wounded, though, so something still needed to be done.

Moriarty seemed to have understood that Sebastian had to be in charge for this, at least; he was lying still, though he was tense and obviously uneasy. Sebastian barked out an abrupt, "Stay here," before he got up and made his way over to the place the sound had gone from, finger tense on the trigger.

Whoever it was had picked a decent enough spot to try to pick them off, even if they were a crap shot; they'd taken their potshot from the stairs leading down into the building below, and they probably would have avoided being hit at all if it hadn't been for Sebastian's lightning reflexes in returning fire. They'd still been leaning out of their hiding place to get a good shot when he'd fired, which was why he had been able to hit them. But those thoughts were far from Sebastian's mind as he got to the top of the stairs and caught sight of the figure slumped halfway down, breathing laboured and shirt bloodied from the bullet wound in his side.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?!" Sebastian hissed as he descended, grip still firm on his pistol even as he recognised the man who had fired the shots. It was Fletcher, a man who worked for Smith's organisation and who had worked alongside Sebastian himself for months now. He'd always been one of Smith's favourites, though Sebastian had been critical of his abilities - and now here he was, clutching a bullet wound after trying to gun Sebastian down? It didn't make sense. "Fletcher, you'd better fucking tell me, I swear to god - "

"It wasn't for you. I wasn't aiming for you, you just fucking moved at the wrong time," Fletcher snapped, his voice obviously strained from the pain of his wound, though he still managed to pitch it quietly enough to stop Moriarty overhearing. It was a flesh wound, nasty, but nothing too serious. He would manage. "I was aiming for _him_."

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder automatically, but Moriarty wasn't in earshot. "You shouldn't have been aiming for him either. He's my job." Sebastian's voice was even lower than Fletcher's. He hadn't let go of his pistol. His temper was still flaring, bucking at its restraints. Whether or not Fletcher had been aiming for Sebastian, he'd nearly hit him. And he'd nearly hit Moriarty, and that was Sebastian's task, not some other employee of Smith's just trying to snatch all the credit for himself. "Whose idea was this? Did Smith send you?"

Fletcher pressed his hand against the wound and blew out a long breath, trying to control his breathing. His lips were pale and his brow furrowed, but Sebastian ignored it. "He just wanted all the chances he could get," Fletcher said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "You rung in and confirmed that you'd got a job with Moriarty, you said where you were gonna be, so why not try to get him sooner rather than later?"

Sebastian was seeing red. Smith had sent someone else to do _his_ job. He'd kept Sebastian in the dark, and sent someone to try and take Sebastian's shot before he had the chance to complete his task. What was the point of sending Sebastian to get into Moriarty's organisation in the first place if Smith was just going to try to bulldoze in anyway with messy, ill-considered plans and misjudged bullets? Sebastian was here to get more information about Moriarty's organisation, to find out how it worked so that Smith could take it apart, and then kill him. Sending Fletcher could easily have got Sebastian killed. Killed whilst working to fulfull the task which Smith himself had set him.

Fletcher was trying to tell him to help him up. Sebastian wasn't listening. Something about needing pressure on the wound, and painkillers, and a hand down the stairs where he could call for someone to come and help him after Moriarty was out of the way. It was meaningless. It was stupid. It wouldn't work. Moriarty was too clever to buy that whoever had tried to kill him had just vanished, and he wouldn't trust any version of events that Sebastian could come up with. Except one; and that one required a body.

Sebastian shot Fletcher mid-sentence, watched him crumple, then turned on his heel and climbed back up the stairs and onto the rooftop to return to Moriarty.

He wasn't lying down anymore; instead he was sitting up and picking bits of dirt off his suit. He looked pissed off and much less composed than Sebastian had ever seen him; his hair was messy, there was a streak of dirt on his left cheek, and his suit was creased and torn along one arm from where they had hit the ground together. Oddly, it suited him. He looked better for it; more human, and bizarrely Sebastian had to fight back a slight smile at the sight of his irritated expression as he sat concrete and waited for Sebastian to come back.

"Well?"

"One man. Late twenties," Sebastian reported. He stepped up to Moriarty's side and held out a hand. Moriarty looked at his hand and sniffed, but took it all the same and pulled himself gingerly to his feet.

"Dead?" he asked after a moment of brushing himself down and trying in vain to smooth down his hair.

"Dead," Sebastian confirmed. "Clean-up can get him and give you any clues as to his identity, I suppose."

Moriarty nodded. He looked away, towards the building rather than the stairwell where the body lay waiting to be found. He didn't make any move to call clean-up - he'd probably already texted his ever on-hand security as well as his clean-up team whilst waiting, but right now Sebastian had another task to complete.

He squatted by his tripod, still set up. Fletcher had fired at them with approximately six minutes to before the target appeared. Sebastian had dealt with Fletcher and the threat he posed in just under five minutes. Which meant...

Within a minute, the original target had appeared in the window upon which Sebastian's sights were set. He fired once, dead on centre, then stepped back and packed up his equipment, much faster than he had assembled it but no less carefully. It was only when he had all his equipment ready to go that he finally looked at Moriarty. When he did, Moriarty's expression was a mixture of approving and something else that Sebastian couldn't quite identify.

"Good boy," Moriarty murmured.

Sebastian just nodded. He indicated to the fire escape that he and Moriarty had arrived by in the first place and let his boss lead the way. He knew that there would be consequences from this. He had killed one of Smith's employees, a favoured one no less, and for that there would be hell to pay. But in doing so he had deepened Moriarty's trust in him. He would deal with Smith. He'd just been doing his job, nothing more and nothing less.

Unbidden, the memory of the look on Moriarty's face as he watched Sebastian crept into his mind. Sebastian tried to ignore it, but like Moriarty himself, it wasn't easily put off. He found himself mulling over it all the way back to headquarters, with Moriarty quiet and pensive for once by his side in the back of the car which came to pick them up. Something about the look in his eyes had sent an odd feeling down Sebastian's spine, but he couldn't identify whether it was a chill or a shiver, bad or good. Moriarty was still staring at him in his mind's eye, his gaze approving, pleased, thoughtful. And _intrigued_.


End file.
